


Tastes Like Calamity

by youremyqueen



Category: Death Note
Genre: Casual Sex, F/M, Het, Kink Meme, Language, Minor Canonical Character(s), POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Public Sex, Sexual Content, Smoking, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youremyqueen/pseuds/youremyqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" Aiber asks, smirking in that way the French do that's just a bit too over-the-top to be sexy and a bit too charming not to be.</p><p>Written for the second death note kink meme, prompt was: seduction, snark, friction, sex on Wedy's motorcycle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tastes Like Calamity

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 7/2/11.

It's before the end, before the sugar cube tower goes crumbling, before she has to watch through binoculars as some thin-lipped holy man give the eulogy at the funeral of her favorite atheist, before she has to stop thinking about whether or not she trusts that pretty boy, Yagami Raito, and start thinking about her next job - just before all that, a lighter comes out of nowhere and lights her drooping cigarette.

Wedy breathes in and looks up, all heavy lashes and knife-sharp sweetness, and he gives her the same look back.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" Aiber asks, smirking in that way the French do that's just a bit too over-the-top to be sexy and a bit too charming not to be.

There's still sirens screaming and policemen in helmets running every which way, and she thinks Papa Yagami might be yelling something about a notebook and a monster, but she just sits back, inhaling her prepackaged cancer and forgetting to care.

"Oh, you know," she whispers on an exhale, "enjoying the calamity."

Aiber leans an elbow on the handlebar of her bike, doing his best impression of something towering and attractive, and it's a pretty damn good one.

"Maybe you should go help," he suggests, completely unhelpfully.

"And why not you?" she asks, arching an eyebrow and blowing smoke in his face.

He's got a hand on the wall that's she's leaning against, back pressed to the cold brick, her legs dangling sidesaddle over her motorcycle, and maybe she likes what his body language is implying, but what she'd like much better is to stub out her smoke on his arm and watch his ego go up in flames. Then again, she might like a nice, quick fuck even better than that.

"I'm a conman, a talker," he says. "I don't do… whatever the hell it is they're all doing over there. You, on the other hand, are quite the action girl."

"If L needs me, I'll know it."

Aiber _hmms_ and leans in closer, lips ghosting over her own.

"Don't you have a wife somewhere?" she asks as soon as he pulls back, breathing a little heavier and with a glint in his eye.

He just shrugs. "Somewhere."

She rolls her eyes and stands up, dropping the the cigarette and crushing it underfoot. Fisting a small hand in the collar of his shirt, she pulls until the buttons fly across the floor, then shoves him back onto her bike. It's less than simple to balance on his lap without tipping the whole damn thing over, but she's not exactly new to difficult positioning, and it's not long before his zipper is down and her dress is shoved up, and she thinks she hears one of the many faceless men yelling something about public indecency, but then Aiber's inside of her and there's no room left for anything  
except heavy breathing and sharp thrusts and watching her nails make little half-moon marks on his shoulders.

She bites his lip, _hard_ , and he calls her a 'fucking vixen' like it isn't something wonderful.

"And you're not, sugar?" she says to his neck. And his hands are large on her hips and her breathing is getting quicker, and fuck, he has a kid, doesn't he? She saw the picture of the little girl in the Sunday dress the first time she snagged his wallet and -

Another ragged thrust and she's gone, groaning into the soft fabric of his shirt and wanting to laugh like an idiot because half the law enforcement in the city is probably watching her get off, and if that's not funny - and fuck, _fuck_.

Then it's done and she's pulling up her stockings and getting out another cigarette. She reaches into his pocket for the lighter as he straightens out his own clothes and pretends that he doesn't notice the lack of stealth.

"You taste like ash," is all he says, a soft, sated smile curling its way onto his lips.

She rolls her eyes. "You taste like how I imagine an advertisement for cheap cologne would," she says, holding his lighter back out to him.

Aiber shakes his head. "Keep it. I only use it to pick up girls, anyway."

She smirks and watches his retreating back, slipping the cold metal into her pocket, and for a little while, in the late night air and cacophony of panicked voices, it's quite nice.


End file.
